Spinning
by LindaO
Summary: John relaxes by watching a spider spin a web, and tells Harold a little story about his past. A follow-up to "Anyday." With thanks to Grets and her "Ordinary Tasks" drabble challenge. This isn't a drabble, but it's short. Short is fun!


Finch walked to the back hallway to fill his birdfeeder and was surprised to find that John had dragged over one of the armchairs and was sprawled in it, staring fixedly out the adjacent window, which was slightly ajar. The former operative was motionless, relaxed, but clearly awake. It had been a brutal case and they were both exhausted. "I thought you'd be sleeping," Finch said quietly.

Reese gestured languidly toward the open window. "Watching the spider."

Finch leaned closer to look. As indicated, there was an unremarkable spider spinning a web between the bars just outside the window. "I … see."

"I like spiders."

"Not my cup of tea," Finch admitted, "but it seems to be very relaxing for you. I'll just fill this and leave you in peace." He opened the elaborate antique tin, scooped up about a pound of birdseed, and opened the other window to fill the birdfeeder Reese had bought him for his not-birthday.

"I watched a spider for five days once," Reese said quietly.

Finch replaced the scoop and closed the bin. "Did you?"

"In Istanbul. I was a prisoner. Locked in a little room, no way out." He continued to gaze out the window. His voice was a bit dreamy, lost in the memory.

Finch stayed quiet. Though he knew 'exactly everything' about Reese's past, the man rarely spoke about it. He didn't interrupt.

"Nothing I could do but wait, either to be rescued or to be killed." John gave a small sardonic smile. "But there was a little window, maybe six inches wide. I could see an alley down below. There was a café on the other side. They roasted lamb every morning. It smelled delicious. It must have been good, too, because they had people lined up around the block by noon." He shifted a little. "I told myself if I got out of there alive, I was going to try that café, find out what the fuss was all about.

"The second day, I saw a spider in the corner of the window. Just a little thing, gray, ordinary. I watched her all morning, building her web. It was a lot like this one. Nothing fancy. But when you're in a small room with nothing better to do … it passed the time."

"I can see how it would." Almost against his will, Finch leaned again to watch the current spider. It was rather remarkable, how she made something so complex out of basically nothing. The little creature reminded him of an artisan, or a chef. There was no wasted motion, no hesitation.

"It rained that night." Reese's voice was still languid in memory. "In the morning, there were water droplets all over the web. It was beautiful, like it was sprinkled with little diamonds. But it was heavy, too, sagging, just about to tear. The spider started at the bottom of the web and tapped one strand at a time, shaking the water off. She did the bottom row, and then she went up to the next row, but the droplets fell onto where she'd just cleared, so she had to go back and shake them off again. I thought that was strange, that she didn't just start at the top. And then I realized …"

"The falling droplets would build up on the lower strands if she did," Finch said.

Reese nodded. "The weight would have torn the whole web down. So she worked her way up and then back down and then up again, one strand at a time, until it was dry. She was almost done when this big fat fly landed on the web and thrashed around and tore it up. She wrapped it all up and tucked it in the corner, and then she repaired the web again. It took all day. She was so patient, so careful. It was amazing. I mean …" He glanced at Finch, checking to see if he was bored.

"I know what you mean," Finch assured him. "It must have been very lovely."

"It was. Lovely. Very soothing to just sit and watch." He paused. "I watched that spider for five days."

"And then you escaped?" Finch guessed.

"No. Then a bird came along and ate her."

"Oh." Finch considered. "Given its proximity to the birdfeeder, this spider is highly likely to meet the same fate."

"I know." Reese shrugged with gently resigned regret. "Circle of life, Finch."

"I supposed. Did you ever get to eat at the café?"

John smiled grimly. "No. Kara hauled me out of there two days after the bird, and we were on the next plane to Kiev."

"That's unfortunate. Not that you were rescued, of course, but that you missed the café." Finch considered. "That's where you were going, wasn't it? Before the Machine diverted you to Rome?"

Reese glanced at him again. "It was stupid."

"Why?"

"After Carter … I had so many regrets. So many things I hadn't said or done, so many …" He sighed. "My whole life, all those things … it was the first thing I thought of that I could actually do something about. One little thing. So I got on a plane." He shook his head. "Stupid."

"I think it's a perfectly understandable response. Sometimes a tactical retreat is the only viable option." Finch paused, then nodded to himself. "But I am glad you're back, Mr. Reese."

Reese continued to stare at the spider. "Me, too."

In the other room, a computer chirped. "I need to tend to that," Finch said. "You should get some rest."

"I am resting."

"As you wish."

* * *

John fell asleep watching the spider. When he woke, it was dusk outside the window. The spider was resting in the corner of its new web. Finch was standing beside him again. He had a carry-on bag with him and a stack of documents in his hand.

"New Number?" Reese asked wearily.

"No." Finch handed him the documents. "Passport, identification, credit cards. And a boarding pass. Your plane departs at ten. You need to leave for the airport soon."

"Where am I going?"

"To Istanbul. To have lunch at that café."

Reese looked up at him. "Kind of a long trip for lunch."

"You flew half-way around the world once for pierogi that you didn't even eat," Finch reminded him. "This is at least as worthy a goal. You can stay for dinner, too, if that makes it better."

John shifted until he was sitting up in the chair. His neck was kinked up, and so was his lower back. "Finch…" "

Mr. Reese. We both know that it is highly likely that we will die in this endeavor of ours. And when we go to our inevitable end, we will both carry with us a world of regrets, for things undone and words unsaid. But in this particular instance, you have a chance to have one less regret. One less thing undone. And I have a chance to make that possible for you. Which means it is one less thing I will not have to regret having not done as well."

John stared at his partner for a long moment. It was such a simple thing. And such a foolish thing. And such a wonderful thing.

One chance to have one less regret, however minor.

One less thing undone.

One chance to try the lamb at a café in Istanbul.

"It might not even be there anymore," he said hesitantly.

Finch shrugged elegantly. "Perhaps not."

"What if you get another Number while I'm gone?"

"Miss Shaw and I will handle it."

"Finch …"

"John. You should go. There's not much time."

Reese stood up. Finch was right, of course. There wasn't much time. There would never be much time. On one hand, it was foolish to fly half-way around the world for lunch. And on the other hand – one minute you're carefully tending your web and the next you're swallowed up by a bird. Circle of life. He might as well eat the lamb while he had the chance.

Finch was right. Finch was absolutely right.

"Thank you, Harold."

Finch's eyes glimmered behind his glasses. He was, John knew, profoundly pleased. "I called for a car to meet you at the end of the block." He turned and walked back to his desk.

Reese picked up the suitcase, confident that it would have everything he needed for a short trip. He was hungry, but he could grab a bite at the airport and sleep on the plane. He didn't have to look at his ticket to know he was flying first class.

As he grabbed his coat off the hook, he glanced toward Finch's desk. On the monitor there was a live feed from the birdfeeder cam. A dozen little birds flitted around, getting in one last meal for the day. With any luck, they'd been too full to go after John's spider.

"See you soon, Harold."

"Safe travels, John."


End file.
